


The Promise

by ExperimentLain



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExperimentLain/pseuds/ExperimentLain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's embarrassing enough to have a wet dream in your 40's, but horrible things can happen when the object of said dream interrupts you, while you get yourself off, for band practice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Gorillaz  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Warning: Non-Con, Rape, blah blah blah  
> Characters: Murdoc x 2-D
> 
> This fiction was written when the band was still at Kong Studios.

A low, growling snore radiated from underneath a thin blanket in the darkness of the bedroom. A loud beeping let off, an alarm clock. A raspy growl followed by a crash, and the unfortunate clock was in pieces.

Murdoc lay on his stomach, now partially uncovered from the bit of effort it took for him to destroy his clock. His greasy, black hair was more messed than normal, and a light sheen of sweat beaded on his skin.  
He opened his black eye just slightly. Sighing; he sat up; just before he became painfully aware that the dream that he had just been ripped from left a painful arousal. This didn’t bother him, but the dream that caused it, did. He grunted and looked down to the ‘tent’ under his blanket, threw the sheet off of himself and stood. The bassist had slept nude the night before, so his erection stood proudly as he moved to grab his smokes, then moving back to his bed, sitting down. Almost reluctantly, he moved his hand to his hardness, he would not admit that such a dream would do this to him.

"Oi! You get 'im!" 2-D shouted, waving a fist at Russell. Noodle sat on the floor swaying back and forth as she giggled, her remote control car controller held tight in her hands... the pesky car zooming around the singer's feet, nearly making him fall as he stepped on it "AH! Evil Noodle, gimme that bloody fing!" he cursed, then started to peruse the small red hot rod, which made the girl cackle with laughter all the more and make the car go faster. Russell sighed, easily scooping the car up for the moment to get the young vocalist’s attention. Noodle probably just let him grab it to annoy the blue haired man. “I'm not waki'n him, and Noodle's not steppi'n one foot in that Winnebago when he first wakes up.” The drummer sighed, turning the car in his large hands, playing with the wheels that were still spinning. He knew that was the reason why 2-D didn’t want to wake the eldest member either, he was a real monster so early, more so than usual. He sighed, “Maybe we should do dis the American way, gamble.” He suggested with a slight smile. “Flip a coin perhaps?” From the darkness of his large navy camouflage hip hop trousers, he pulled out an American quarter, useless here in England. “What d´ you say?” he asked, holding the small shiny object up to catch the other’s attention. 2-D blinked and looked at the coin, glaring at it. "Why d'we ulways got ter gamble?" he asked, eying the coin. For a moment, he seemed to consider the drummer's suggestion, and then, after reaching an agreement with himself, he settled with the idea. "Oi, fine...I got tails!" he screeched, then hunched and waited for the outcome. Truth was...he'd not have sent Noodle either... so it really was just between him and Russ...But damnit! Russ was a big man! He could hold his bloody own! Russell knew Murdoc gave his singer a hard time, but was in no mood today to put up with the Satanist who was surely hung over. He smiled. “Fine; D; heads.” He flipped the coin, watching it make its graceful accent into the air, catching it on its way down, slapping it down over his opposite palm. He looked at 2-D with his blank, white eyes, removing his hand, then laughed triumphantly as the famous image of George Washington, America’s first president was staring them both in the face. “I win. Go get him before we waste any more practice time.” He ordered, feeling almost sorry for the scrawny blue haired singer.  
But then he shook it off, D would be fine, Murdoc wouldn’t kill him, he was too crucial to the band.

2-D screeched and tackled the big black man, clawing for that damned quarter. When he got it; since he was fast after all; he bit at it with his remaining teeth, spat on it, then threw it at Russ, the small disk actually sticking to the man's broad forehead. 2-D then walked off, head hanging despondently between his shoulders, mumbling his harmless curses to no one.  
Russell blinked, surprised at the young man’s outburst. As he watched him leave, he couldn’t hold back his laughter.  
Once the vocalist had left, and was beyond hearing range, Russel nearly fell over with laughter.  
He hadn’t seen anything like that for a long while. "Perhaps", he thought, that was the last time he won a bet against 2-D.

 

The singer grumbled and mumbled his way down to the Winnie. With the car park as dark and dank as always, he made his way to the mobile home. Pausing, he stood in front of the door for a moment and wavered a bit...Then, with a heavy sigh, he grabbed the knob and turned it, opening the door that badly needed oil, it's hinges lamenting the treatment.  
He climbed the steps, and into the sick, ever present dusk of the Winnebago bowels, worry churning his insides.  
As he searched the ill-lit mobile home for any sign of the older man, his keen ears picked up the slight sound of heavy breathing. Heavy, exited breathing.  
A thought struck the singer, much to his own surprise. Maybe Murdoc was hurt, and needed help. Maybe he had taken an overdose of something. Something he did not know the name of, let alone could spell.  
He continued his search throughout the innards of the reeking home, aware of his intrusion.  
The next thing 2-D was aware of; if, he was ever aware of anything; was that his bassist was naked, and jacking himself off vigorously.

A moment of nauseated realisation later, and 2-D spoke, disgusted, his eyes wide and his jaw a little slack. "Oy mate! That jus' ain't right!"  
Murdoc lifted his dark, lustful gaze. Yes, his mismatched eyes always seemed ‘lustful’ when he was engaged in sexual activities, he was still human after all, no matter how much he’d deny it. He sneered, his sharp, crooked teeth bared in a lustful grimace. “It’s only natural, Mate.”  
He chuckled, his voice raspy and dark. “Nothing more right about it, Face-Ache.” His eyes lit up a bit as his hand paused on his slick, hard shaft. 2-D could see his how that change in the older man's gaze crawled across his perverted mind. It frightened 2-D, and made him turn to leave. He was; despite his slow thinking; not sure he wanted to know what that thought was. “C’mere Dullard… I’ll show you what ain’t right.” Murdoc growled out. The ordering tone caught the singer, and kept him there, frozen to the spot.  
Murdoc, who was no man to pass an opportunity, stood quickly and grabbed 2-D’s wrist, forcing him closer. He pushed the young man to the bed and sent a knee into the small of his back, holding him still. He was often glad the boy wasn’t too swift, neither in mind nor in movement. The singer was backing up as the other moved, an apprehensive look flickering in the void of his damaged eyes. But, he was captured before he could make a move.  
"Ay! No mate... We got practice!" He cried out as he struggled. But the relentlessness of the much stronger bassist took it's toll on 2-D, and after he had given a few more lame excuses and pleas that were hardly heard as he struggled faintly against the musky mattress, practically eating the bassist's sweat soaked sheets, the smell and taste of them nauseating him almost to the point where he would retch, he gave up, and sagged, feeling the weight of the other pressing against him.  
“Then let us hurry!” Murdoc laughed. He reached under the youth and unbuckled his belt, ripping his pants down to his thighs, just enough to gain access.  
During all this, 2-D's slow little mind was working harder than it had ever done before, and when the full impact what Murdoc was about to do finally hit home, he panicked, and tried to squirm away, to fight, to bite and to kick. But to no avail. Tha older man was used to wielding his heavy bass for hours and hours on stage, and held him in an iron grip, nails digging into his pale skin.  
“You just have to be quiet... little Dents...” The older band mate hissed into 2-D's ear, licking it with his unnaturally long tongue, letting it slide down across the side of his neck, wetting the soft skin.  
At the feel of that sinful and hot touch, 2-D let out an involuntary gasp of pleasure, and sagged under the weight of the other.  
Murdoc could feel his singer's slight abandon, and positioned himself at 2-D’s entrance.  
His shaft was throbbing from the inside of his thighs and gut and out to the very tip, where clear liquid glinted, wet and hot. The thought of humiliating the boy was painted across his sick mind from the very first day they met, and this would be the best example yet. The thought made Murdoc grind his jagged teeth with desire, but he wanted a slow torture. A slow and wonderful torture, to begin with, anyway.  
In the darkness, he could see the shape of the body in front of him, the soft buttocks, the thighs, and the unused entrance. Another wave of searing lust washed through him, and he moved himself closer, pushing his erection against it, wanting the boy to know what was coming.  
2-D whimpered, frightened and shameful "Muhdoc... that ain't right either! Stop it, stop it... please... please Muhdoc..."  
But the prayer for mercy fell upon barren soil, as he felt the hot, hard erection of his bassist press firmer and firmer against his exit. White hot fear mixed with a jolt of anger sent him struggling again. "I'LL TELL!!!" he screamed, squirming around even more. Murdoc growled a bit, his sinewy hand covering 2-D’s mouth, two dirty, calloused fingers slipping between his lips, scratching the roof of the other’s mouth, to the back of his throat, cutting it with long unkempt nails, gagging him, not caring. “Shush." He ordered, his voice dangerously low and controlled. "You won’t say a word about this, Dullard. If you do... I’ll kill you.” Once again, he slid his slick long tongue across 2-D's neck, feeling the wild pulse of his blood just underneath the skin, reveling in the sensation of the frightened heartbeat against his tongue. Then, he sunk his sharp teeth into the younger man’s shoulder through the thin t-shirt.  
"That's a promise!"  
Then, in one swift movement he thrust himself fully inside the opening, no warning nor preparation. The singer, now blind with fear and pain squealed again and rocked against Murdoc. Then he tried to scream, impeded by the bassist's fingers in his moth. Next, by mere impulse, he tried to bite, but by the lack of his two front teeth, he only managed to suck and clamp down on those nasty fingers, his rear burning with the pain of a dry entry.  
Murdoc grunted with pleasure as he sunk into his singer's narrow depths.  
The fire that sped through him made him groan, and he licked the younger man’s neck once more. “Good boy… good little idiot.” he seethed in between the thrusts that went deeper and deeper with every stroke and pull.  
It was wonderful, his mind noted. To humiliate 2-D like this. He really did hate this man, he reminded himself. He had always hated him, and now he could truly enjoy proving it to him.  
“If the other’s weren’t here…" Murdoc rasped in his singer's ear, "I would love ter hear you scream, you bloody little sod.”  
2-D groaned, tears of pain filling his eyes. "Oh god..." he was GLAD the other's weren't there...they might be band mates...but he knew they wouldn't fight to save his ass...no matter how literally! Murdoc loved the pain the other was in, he could see the look on 2-D’s face even from the side like this. Murdoc laughed lowly, pulling out of the other nearly all the way and slamming back into him repeatedly, he pulled his hand away from the other’s mouth, wanting to hear his cries.  
Just knowing he was hurting the singer was already fueling him. The screams would only add to the fire.  
"Go on then, Dents..." Murdoc breathed in between clenched teeth. "Squeal like the little bitch that you are!"  
2-D couldn't think anymore, and could only cry out. He couldn’t believe this was happening.  
His inside burned as if someone had decided to pour acid into him the from behind, and cried out again, only to be answered by the approving grunts of wicked satisfaction from behind his back.  
After a while however, his screams faded into moans, and he no longer struggled to get away, but merely grasped the sheets with meek fingers underneath him.  
Somewhere in the delirium he was so painfully forced into by his Satanist bassist, there was a sudden flicker of lust. A flicker ignited by the moans escaping both him and Murdoc.  
He was too easy sometimes... and it didn't help that he suddenly found this rather hot... which could easily be told by the hard on that swung between his thin thighs.  
Murdoc found after the first few thrusts that it was easier now, and he was delighted to see that it was in fact the other’s blood that was lubricating his way.  
Then, as he shifted position just slightly one hand underneath the singer's groin, to gain more balance, he growled, annoyed when he finally did realize the git was enjoying this. He reached further around and under the other, his sharp nails cutting into the delicate flesh of 2-D’s cock.  
He was almost sickened that the other could be enjoying this, but he was more disappointed than anything. He wasn’t pumping or pleasure the other at all with his hand, just clawing into him. He continued thrusting roughly into the younger man, climbing to his own peak rapidly. 2-D choked on a scream as his tender flesh was torn. He closed his eyes tightly, tears trickling down the sides of his face, his broken voice whimpering with every thrust. His erection lost with the hand hurting him so, and he tried to pull away, only to have the elder man grab his arms and holding his wrist behind his back with one hand, not faltering his thrusts in the least. It wasn’t long before Murdoc growled out, a moan tore through him as he came deep inside of his singer. The salty fluids burnt and stung the singer's torn flesh as the bassist pulled out, watching with satisfaction as white mixed with red. “Good boy…” he chuckled as he stood back, letting the man under him go, letting him slip and fall fully onto the dirty, stained mattress.

He smiled as he realized the other was crying. “Get dressed, Bitch, we’ve got an album to get ready.” He punched the blue haired man in the side, the crack of a rib could be herd along with a muffled whimper from.

The younger man lay trembling, tear-swollen, black, damaged eyes turned around to behold the bassist who was pulling on a pair of worn dirty jeans. “Why…?” he whimpered. Tears threatening to choke him.  
Murdoc rose a neglectful brow and sneered. “’Cause I bloody felt like it.” 2-D felt the bassists words sink into him like a numbing poison. Slowly; much slower than usual; and with great difficulty, he tried to get up and rearrange his jeans and boxers, just as Murdoc had ordered him, just like the "Good boy" he was. But as the fabric of the clothes brushed against his mistreated abdomen, the bleeding raw flesh of his wilted erection, he whimpered in pain, shut his eyes tight, hot tears of searing pain running down the side of his face.  
He couldn't move, and lay still, knees on the Winnebago floor, upper torso on the dirty mattress, face resting on the side, the battered flesh of his mistreated backside still exposed.  
"Muhdoc..." he finally managed to beg the older man, looking up. "Please help me... please... I...I can't do it... help me... please?"  
2-D tried to keep his gaze focused upon the form looming above him, tried to find some kindness in that feral stare. But the Satanist just chuckled, his merciless mismatched eyes looking down at his singer.  
"No."  
"Why?"  
"Because I bloody fucking felt like it. Told you before, telli'n you again."  
"Please?" The singer was now teetering on the edge of panic. "I... I can't re... rehearse if... if... if I can't get my clothes on... please?"  
Murdoc chuckled once more. The sound was cold and hard in 2-D's ears.  
"Help yourself. If you can..." There was a long moment of silence, a moment spent by 2-D trying to dress again, to cover his shame, and a moment spent by Murdoc fully enjoying the show displayed in front of him.  
Then the bassist spoke again, heading for the door.  
"Well, Dents... It seems like you have decided to stay here, to... lick your wounds..." He gave a short metallic laugh. "So stay. Like a good dog, and wait for Master." Another humorless laugh that cut through 2-D's sensitive mind, a mind that was not just panicking, but also beginning to feel the first stage of a heavy migraine. He tried to protest, tried to move, but there was nothing he could do but slump back and onto the floor. No help was given him, not even to get up and rest in the bed. He lay there, on the sticky floor, staring at Murdoc's boots, and heard him speak again. his voice was casual, almost cheerful. A tone of voice someone would have liked, and found pleasant in another situation. But in the singer's situation, that tone of voice was right out menacing. It was the voice of a madman, someone who could do anything to his fellow band-mates, and not even blink at the result.  
"I'll report you ill, Dents. And you will stay there, on the floor like the good dog you are."  
Still that horribly casual, cheerful voice. 2-D shuddered, almost knowing what would follow.  
But what followed next surpassed all his worst expectations.  
Murdoc strode up to him, and edged a sharp boot in underneath his face, tilting the singer's head up to look at him.  
"I will come back later to play some more with you."  
2-D whimpered.  
Then, the bassist left his singer who lay sobbing, curled up on the floor.  
The last thing he said; as he turned the keys in the lock; was:  
"And that's a promise!"

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in 2007- I still am unsure I will add anymore to be honest. It was a very bad mood that went terribly wrong for poor D. I Have not edited this at all- I only C&P from Y-Gallery to look back on later for the sake of growth. I am always writing and improving and I sorely hope to be adding to my pile of stories. I am not big on writing FanFiction anymore as I am always too nervous to go terribly OOC with the Copyrighted Characters that I love enough to do these horrid little things to. I sure hope you enjoyed!


End file.
